


Don't Like Poetry

by brightly_lit



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Innuendo, Language, Minor Violence, Romantic Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-06
Updated: 2013-09-06
Packaged: 2017-12-25 20:09:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/957125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brightly_lit/pseuds/brightly_lit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meg knows Cas will be there when she goes to talk to Sam and Dean, and she totally didn't pick out this shirt just for him.  Too bad it just got a bloody bullethole in it--not quite the flirtatious encounter she hoped.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Like Poetry

Meg caught her reflection in a window on the way to Sam and Dean’s hotel. The lipstick was just right: dark red, sultry .... She put a strand of hair back in place. This meatsuit was holding up really well, and Cas seemed to like it--not that that mattered! Screw Cas, whatever. It’s not like she cared if he was going to be at the hotel with Sam and Dean or anything. She had to talk to them anyway; so what if she’d heard the angel was on his way there right now and would surely arrive just as she did. 

Maybe, to be polite, instead of appearing in the room, he would appear outside and knock. That should give them a couple of private seconds, just the two of them, before having to talk to those two chuckleheads. Either way; she didn’t care. His eyes would see inside her, might even see these very thoughts and know what she was thinking, see all the way down to these borrowed toes in the way that made her feel a strange sort of warmth she hadn’t felt in centuries. “Fuck you, Cas,” she thought, so maybe he could see that thought, too, a grin coming unbidden to her face. “Fuck you, and your perfect blue eyes, and your fluffy stupid wings, and your lame poetry. You can bite my ass.” She caught the reflection of her grin as she turned to continue on her way, and hurried her step. Angels traveled fast.

It was at the edge of the hotel parking lot where they caught her--four of Crowley’s toadies. Oh, joy. They emerged from the shadows beyond the streetlights, asking her why she was headed to the Winchesters’ hotel, whether she was going soft, whether spending all that time with an angel had made her less demonic. She was more disturbed that the accusation didn’t offend her than at the accusation itself ... but there was no time to think about that right now. She needed to take care of these idiots before Sam and Dean figured out what was going on and got involved or, worse, Cas came to her rescue. That stupid angel would totally do something like that. 

She glanced around at the ground for holy oil. She didn’t see anything, and she didn’t figure these guys were smart enough for that, but Crowley might have tipped them off and supplied them with some. She knew Crowley would love nothing more than to see Cas rendered helpless so he could begin to exact revenge for all of Cas’s betrayals over the souls in purgatory--which, Meg had to admit, had been pretty impressive--almost demon-level betrayal, even. Yeah. As angels went, he was one of the best--besides Lucifer, of course.

All was going well--she’d tricked them and dispatched two of them with the demon-killing knife. She was headed for the third when the fourth shot her!--with that fake Colt that was apparently still making the rounds among the stupider demons. There were more painful and less painful ways of killing demons with that knife--something Sam and Dean weren’t privy to, and she never intended to let them find it out, since she figured her end would one day come at the end of this blade--and she used the most painful on that damn fourth demon when she finally got him, the son of a bitch. 

After it was all over and their bodies lay in heaps on the pavement, she looked down at her shirt and let out a rare sound of dismay. He shot her right in the upper abdomen. Right through this shirt she totally hadn’t picked out just for Cas! She stabbed the trigger-happy demon one more time for good measure before wiping his blood off on his own nice shirt. She cursed. Where was she going to find a new shirt at this time of night?! If she stole the clothes off some woman’s back, Cas might find out and the little boy scout would probably disapprove. Maybe she could take another meatsuit ... but Cas seemed to like this one, and again, loads of condemnation out of not just him, but those hardly saintly Winchester boys.

“Hello.”

She heard the unmistakable timbre of his geeky voice behind her, and she turned reluctantly to face him. Just as she’d hoped, alone together outside the hotel room ... only all wrong. Piles of bodies, blood trickling down her belly, hair mussed--what had she ever done to deserve this kind of luck?? 

“How long have you had that vessel now, Cas? Hasn’t it been about four years? You should figure out how to use his voice right.” He only tilted his head at her, like he often did. What a dweeb. She stepped up to him. “Because you know,” she murmured, “voices can be sexy. They don’t have to be all ... Sling Blade in monotone.”

His eyes descended to her abdomen. She had a moment’s hope he was into gunshot wounds and blood ... but oh, right, angel. They weren’t into anything fun. “You’ve been shot,” stating the obvious like usual.

She gave him an ornery smile. “... Extra orifice?” Sadness touched his eyes. She’d seen all kinds of things there--sadness, madness, guilt, pity, love, forgiveness, her own reflection. The complete and utter lack of sadness--or anything--in her own eyes. He must despise her, secretly. He should. He would, if he weren’t insane now, or just plain fucking stupid. “You always were Dumbest when it came to Dumb and Dumber over there,” she blurted out, gesturing with her head toward the hotel.

He smiled like he got that it was meant as a compliment, but the seriousness returned. “The body you inhabit is dead, then,” he said softly.

Her body had been dead for a long time, but she wasn’t going to tell him that. What good was a meatsuit if you weren’t going to have all the fun with it humans couldn’t afford to? Besides, the constant chatter of their owners had started getting to her the last couple of years for some reason. The original owners of her meatsuits never lasted long. She shrugged. “Like a used-up old shirt you love and aren’t ready to throw away.” UNLIKE her shirt that now had a bullet hole in it, which was only one day old--and she’d gone to a lot of trouble to steal it out of the laundromat, too!

He glanced at the bodies littering the ground around them, then turned his eyes to her again. “Are you all right?” he asked seriously, as if he could see something in her eyes indicating otherwise, only how could he? She thought she’d managed a pretty impressive casual smirk to cover over any anxiety that came from her facing her imminent end two minutes ago. Oh God--her lipstick wasn’t smeared, was it??

“Of course,” she said scornfully.

“I could have helped you. An angel can’t hear a demon’s prayers, but ... I have a cell phone!” he said then brightly as the thought occurred to him. “Call. Next time you get into trouble.”

She tossed her head, hoping the gesture doubled to both look nonchalant and get her hair back in place. “Sure, I’ll get right on that. Next time I get jumped by four demons, I’ll ask ’em to hold on while I dial my angel.”

Cas frowned slightly, and took out his phone, staring at its screen, then held it up to face her. “I also have unlimited text service.”

She couldn’t help it; she burst out with a giggle that was way too genuine and guileless. Slipping her arm through his, she walked him toward the Winchesters’ hotel room. “You’re right; a text’ll be much easier if I’m in a fight. But it’d help if I had a phone.”

He gave her his instantly. “Here, you can have mine,” he told her warmly. “The Winchesters usually just pray for me these days. Sometimes I get calls from what I believe are known as telemarketers, but ... those conversations never seem to go very well ....”

Meg laughed. As she asked Cas about his sexting skills, she had the most disturbing thought of the night: that tickle in her belly she’d attributed at first to the bullet was something else entirely, something terrible and disgusting that a demon--even a lowly turncoat like her--shouldn’t be capable of. It occurred to her--she thought, just maybe, though she did her best to convince herself otherwise--that it was possible it might be a tiny twinge of happiness.

 

~ The End ~


End file.
